


Wish You Weren't Here

by Anonymous



Category: Power (TV 2014)
Genre: ...a little, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack and Angst, Exhibitionism, F/M, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Humor, Innocence, Phobias, Power Dynamics, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The reader takes a job cleaning the penthouse belonging to a wealthy, powerful, drug lord who also happens to be an exhibitionist. What can go wrong?
Relationships: Diego Jimenez/You, Diego Jiménez/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

You stare at the spray of white powder smeared over the top of the glass coffee table. How…how does one clean up cocaine? You nervously twist your cleaning rag into a tightly wound rope as you ponder the options. It’s expensive, right? Would Mr. Jiménez be angry if you cleaned it up? Should you–what?–sweep it into a dustpan and set it aside for later? There’s not a huge amount but if you swept it all into a little pile there would probably be enough to…use? What the fuck do you know about cocaine? What if you use your spray bottle on the coffee table and it goes into the air and you breath it in? Would you get high? This is ridiculous.

It’s your first day working for Diego Jiménez and you’re nervous. Actually that’s an understatement. You have a pretty good idea of how powerful he is and you desperately want to make a good impression and keep this job. The pay is more than you’d make cleaning ten houses. The downside being that the facts of household cleanliness with regards to Class A drugs are now–apparently–required reading.

You’re still hovering indecisively when Diego strolls into the living room. He walks with a confident swagger that you can’t help admiring. Your new boss might be intimidating, but a tiny part of you finds that intensely attractive. Maybe a not-so-tiny part. A part that really needs to pipe down because, at this rate, you’ll be fired before the end of the day anyway.

You don’t want to seem like you’re just standing around idle so you start to carefully scoop the powder using the cloth, plowing it into a neat pile that you intend to–you guess–set aside for now and see what happens. You think he has any tupperware?

Diego’s stride stutters to a stop as he catches sight of what you’re doing. He snaps his fingers at you like Cesar frickin Millan scolding a Pomeranian. You definitely feel like a Pomeranian right now. And he’s a…he’s a Doberman currently staring at you with murder eyes. Fuck.

Your typical response to fear and stress is word vomit.

You freeze in mid-swipe and look up at Diego with eyes wide as saucers, “Uh…sorry. Is this not–okay? I wasn’t sure if I should just leave it how it was. But it looked so dirty and I want to do a good job so I thought I’d just–”

Diego cuts you off with a hand on the back of your neck. His fingers dig into your skin, firm but not enough to hurt…yet. You squeak in alarm as he drags you away from the table and toward the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that make up one whole wall of the living room.

“Uhh…Mr. Jiménez–sir! This didn’t come up in the interview, but I actually am not the biggest fan of–”

He marches you up to the window, steering you with his hand on the back of your neck until you’re pressed up against it, cheek mashed into the cool glass. And–as if your stupid body is in cahoots with your psychotic boss–you look down. You look down at the busy street which seems like it’s about five miles beneath you. Your head spins and your breathing picks up at a rapid pace. You can’t shut your eyes. Why can’t you shut your eyes? If you shut them you can pretend that you’re someplace safe…on solid ground…and not on the top floor of a high-rise with only a few inches of glass standing between you and death.

“Um!” you squeak, ripping your eyes from the view below and trying to crane your neck enough to see Diego looming behind you. You can just see him from the corner of your eyes, grinning maniacally.

“You. Don’t. Touch. The Product. Understand?” he hisses the words into your ears in that growling, tenor voice of his that is already imprinting itself in some of your shameful fantasies. What is *wrong* with you?

Your words come out in a rushed whisper, “Yes! I understand, Mr. Jiménez. Completely. I-I-I apologize. I wasn’t–you see, I’ve never actually seen cocaine before, you know? And I didn’t know if you’d want me to clean it up or save it for–for later. Or–another worry I had was what if I touched it or, or it went into the air and I breathed it in. Would I get high? And that would be very bad because, um, I don’t like being high. And also it’s my first day of work and I just–” your stutter over your words, gaze drifting back down to focus on the murderous drop to the street below, your eyes are welling with tears now, “–I just wanted to do a good job, sir. I’m sorry.”

He finally lets go of you, his hand dropping away and leaving behind the ghost of his fiery touch on your skin. He steps back to let you turn around and he’s laughing at you, “You thought you’d get high if you touched it?”

You’re too preoccupied with getting away from the window to reply at first. You take a few giant steps away from the glass and then you’re crouching down and planting your palms on the marble floor to remind yourself you’re on solid ground. Fucking phobia.

Diego’s looking at you like you’ve grown another head and you feel the need to explain, breathlessly, “I…don’t…like…heights.”

He steps towards you and you have a great view of his shiny, leather shoes as he crouches down to your level. He catches your eyes with a look that’s warmer than anything you’ve seen from him in your short acquaintance. He smiles apologetically and reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Seems like more than a dislike,” he muses watching you as you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

“Okay…” you answer, “I’m fucking afraid of heights! Uh…sir. Sorry! Sir. Mr. Jiménez.”

How can he have such a megawatt smile after manhandling you into a plate glass window and threatening you? And those dimples? Are you kidding me?

“Call me Diego,” he says. 

You look up at him, falling into his dark, fathomless gaze and thinking to yourself, _Son of a bitch_.

“Diego,” you breathe. 

“If you find a mess like that again just leave it, okay? I’ll have one of my guys clean it up. There are going to be some things about this job that you’ll just have to get used to. The most important thing,” here his eyes harden, “is that you don’t tell anyone–ever–about anything you see or hear while you work for me. Do you understand?”

You are seriously over your head, aren’t you? When you just stare dumbly back at him, Diego takes your face in his hands and bores his eyes into yours, “Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes…Diego,” you finally answer. Because what else can you say? You suppose at this point you’ve already seen enough that you aren’t free to just…walk away.

“And Y/N?” Diego says, standing up to his full height, towering over you, still crouched on the floor at his feet. “You think you can manage cleaning these windows?”

The look on your face as you glance over at the intimidating wall of glass is comically horrific, but you try to sound casual in your response, “I’ll…manage.”

He laughs and starts to walk away, “Good, because you left a smudge mark with your face just over there.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leaves. _What a little…_ but even as you’re thinking up a proper insult your eyes lock onto his butt in those tight jeans and notice the way his shirt strains to cover his broad shoulders and…yeah, what were you saying?

***

Later that night you’re finally finished with your work for the day just as guests start to trickle into the penthouse. You wonder if Diego spends every night this way–is his life one big party? You’re sweaty and your back aches and you’re still feeling wobbly from forcing yourself to get right up to those windows and give them a thorough cleaning. You just need to check in with Diego before you leave for the night but he’s still cooped in his bedroom upstairs and you don’t really want to interrupt him. So you’re just trying to blend in with a potted plant against the wall as supermodel attractive women mill about, outnumbering the male guests by about 3 to 1, you’d judge. You feel beyond shabby in your jeans and t-shirt. But at least you’re not wearing one of those housemaid dresses you had to wear for your last employer.

Diego still hasn’t made an appearance, and a younger guy in the crowd has apparently taken notice of you. You can feel every muscle in your body tense up as he starts prowling over to you. You just want to go home and take a bath and maybe think about the way Diego’s butt sways a little when he walks. Ugh, stop that!

“Hey, girl. You not having a good time?” he purrs in a manner he surely thinks is seductive but you’re very tired and very ready to leave.

“I’m not–”

Diego interrupts you, putting a proprietary hand on your shoulder and squeezing a little, “She’s not for you, Ángel. Leave.”

The guy’s whole demeanor changes when he sets eyes on your boss and he backs away with a little bow of respect that has you really, strongly questioning your sanity in A. Taking this job and B. Insisting on being attracted to your potentially psycho-killer employer.

You turn around and Diego is giving you that megawatt smile again. For a minute you just stand there like a deer in the headlights until your brain kicks back in.

“Um…I’m leaving for the night, Mr. Jiménez. I mean–Diego. If you don’t need me for anything else?”

He arches a wicked brow at you and his lips hint at a playful grin. “Anything else?” he laughs. Is he making fun of you? Toying with you? You watch as his eyes focus on a woman strutting by who’s probably half a foot taller than you and 60 pounds lighter. She’s wearing…not much. He licks his lips like a lion about to dig into a zebra. 

“Okay, then…” you murmur, backing away a little. 

Diego turns back at your words looking a little chagrined but still playful, “See you tomorrow, little girl.”

You make a beeline for the elevator, finally letting out a shaky sigh as the doors close behind you. There’s something about Diego that is irresistibly attractive to you. Despite his threatening aura or maybe–maybe because of it? He’s dangerous and powerful and a very bad decision waiting to happen. But–you think about the woman he eyed before you left for the night–who are you kidding? The decision isn’t yours and there is no way Diego Jiménez is interested in the likes of you.

And that’s a good thing.

Probably.

Definitely.

Hmmm…

***

You begin to form an understanding of why this job is so well compensated when you arrive to work the next morning. The whole main level of the penthouse is…a mess. And there are random people passed out asleep on the floor and couches. Glasses and bottles cover every surface, the floor is stained from spills. Napkins, plates, random articles of clothing. _Quelle frickin nightmare._

You take a deep breath and drop your purse into the closet by the elevator entrance. This is…fine. This _will be_ fine. You just need to compartmentalize your priorities. You’ll start with the trash and move your way forward. You have to step over the sleeping form of one of the many female guests from the night before and an unkind thought pops into your head in relation to starting with the trash.

Not nice, you admonish yourself. But then you wonder if the girl had her hands on Diego last night and you find that you don’t really care. Why are you getting so territorial over this man already? Some of the only contact you’ve had with him has been him slamming you against a window to punish you for “touching the product.” That shouldn’t…that should certainly not be a turn on. 

No.

The place starts looking a little better as the morning wears on. By the time Diego emerges from his bedroom, bleary-eyed and dressed only in an expensive, black robe, you’ve nearly finished cleaning up and are just starting to wonder what to do with all of the people still draped all over the place. Your thoughts are abruptly torpedoed when Diego staggers by and the robe partially opens to reveal how naked he is underneath. 

You freeze in place, eyes fixed to the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen and–possibly–straining to see if the robe will part even further to reveal a bit further south.

Diego catches you looking and offers you a seductive grin, “I knew you weren’t as innocent as you seemed.”

“I–what!? Yes, I am! I mean…no. I don’t know?” Stop. Talking.

Diego looks around at all of the passed out bodies and you jump when he suddenly lets out a vicious bark, “Out! Everybody out! This isn’t a fucking sleepover!”

You marvel at the immediate response as people start stirring and lurching upright, walking zombie-like to the elevator. Diego is walking towards you by the couch when he grabs a girl’s wrist as she skirts around him. 

“Not you,” he growls, collapsing onto the couch and letting his robe fall open entirely, revealing the large, proudly straining erection between his legs. Your mouth drops open and you feel your cheeks blush like the heat of a thousand suns. The girl goes to her knees in front of Diego and he lets his head loll over the back of the couch, just casually gesturing with a hand at his cock. “You know what to do.”

Before anything gets…started…you’re talking again, “Oh. My god. Okay, I’ll just go somewhere else while you…uh…do that–”

“No!” Diego barks, grabbing your hand and holding it tightly so you can’t move away. “I like an audience.”

You let out a little whimper of protest, but he just tightens his grip on your hands. You try to cover your eyes with your other hand but he grunts, “Look, look, look, Y/N!”

You let your hand drop away and are forced to watch as the girl takes his massive cock into her mouth. Diego’s head drops back and his shoulders heave as he groans with pleasure. He looks over at you, capturing you in his dark gaze as the girl starts bobbing up and down. He loosens his grip on your hand a little, squeezing gently and stroking your fingers almost…almost lovingly. God, this is–you don’t know what this is.

His face is open and vulnerable, completely destroyed with lust. His mouth hangs open as he emits broken grunts and moans. You can’t look away. The sounds he makes as he unravels, the way his facial expression twitches and crumples as his orgasm nears, his other hand grabbing the girl’s hair and forcing her to take him deeper as he roars with his finish. It’s all beautiful and sick and overwhelming and hot. So hot. His dick falls from the girl’s mouth with an obscene pop and he growls without ever looking away from you, “Get the fuck outta here.”

The girl scurries away and he’s still staring into your eyes, his erection rapidly softening between his spread legs. You must look like a beet, you’re blushing so red. And you’re so worked up with a mixture of embarrassment, arousal, jealousy and shame that there are tears in your eyes. This man has brought you to tears twice in your two-day acquaintance. That can’t be a good omen. 

“You’re jealous,” he whispers, reading your thoughts. “You want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

You finally shut your eyes against his relentless stare and a single tear falls over your cheek. 

“Please, Diego. Let me…let me go,” you need to be released from the intensity of this moment before you do something stupid. For a second you fear that he won’t listen, but his fingers loosen and he lets your hand drop away from his. 

You flee. Rushing to the bathroom and shutting yourself inside. Rather than burst into tears–which is what you’d been expecting–you stagger against the wall and greedily rip at the button of your jeans, diving your hand inside your panties and stroking yourself with abandon until you come with a silent sob.

Yup, trouble. You’re in it.


	2. Chapter 2

When you step off the elevator the first thing you’re aware of is the noise coming from the living room. Whining, mewling female cries underlaid with Diego’s strained, masculine grunts and the obscene, wet sound of his dick slamming into his latest conquest. You take a little breath and square your shoulders. This is your new normal and you’re determined to face it. And the little stab of jealousy that cuts you from inside is barely even there anyway.

The penthouse’s open floor plan means you have an immediate line of sight on the activities as soon as you step out of the elevator alcove. Diego’s back is toward you, his muscles taught with effort as he buries himself inside the woman from behind. She’s pressed up against the window wall, her skin making loud squeaks against the glass each time he thrusts roughly into her. _Damnit, Diego_. Are you going to have to clean those windows every single day?

Diego hears the elevator chime as you arrive and he’s craning his neck to watch you over his shoulder, his teeth bared in a lustful grimace. You avoid his eyes and move into the kitchen, determined to start your work day as if your boss isn’t putting on an exhibitionist show in the next room. But Diego won’t let you get away that easy.

He calls your name in a voice that’s broken with lust and you close your eyes for a second, trying to master your body’s reaction to this man. Diego isn’t having it, “Come here, little girl! Now!”

The last word is an order barked out in the forceful tone he reserves for subordinates and you have no other option but to obey. Still, you drag your feet, making your way slowly toward the writhing couple and keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. 

Diego groans and whines at you, “Get your ass over here.”

“Diego,” you sigh, finally stopping a couple feet away and still determinedly averting your gaze. Your voice shakes, “You know I don’t like being so close to the windows…”

 _Yeah. Sure_. That’s the problem here. But you’re not lying. In addition to the jealousy, arousal, embarrassment, and confusion, you also feel that telltale shaky panic you always get when you’re too close to a high ledge. 

Diego doesn’t stop frantically thrusting his hips as he responds, “I’ll keep you safe. Come here.”

He removes a hand from the woman’s ass and reaches out to you. _God_ , you can not be swooning over this man telling you he’ll keep you safe while he’s fucking another woman. Right? RIGHT?

You slide cautiously forward and Diego hooks his arm around you, hugging you to his side even as he continues burying himself in this woman who still moans and writhes with abandon. He doesn’t try to cop a feel, he’s just holding you against his naked body. Your cheek presses against his muscled chest and you feel the instinctual urge to wrap your arms around him but you hold back. You need to stay detached. Your nascent attraction to your boss is already a problem without being drawn into his sex life as some…pitiful observer. With nothing to look at except the woman’s back and the perilous view from the windows you simply turn and bury your face into the crook of Diego’s arm. He threads his fingers through your hair gently even as his other hand digs bruisingly into the woman’s hip as he slams into her, grunting with his release. 

Once it’s over he pulls away from both of you with a disorienting alacrity. You’re standing there stupidly, not sure what to do with yourself (and aching with discomfort at the moisture between your legs). The girl tries to pull Diego into a kiss but he presses a stack of bills into her hands and pushes her towards the elevator. She’s still nude, holding the money and her dress in her hands as she walks out. 

Diego pulls on a pair of tight jeans and collapses onto the couch, grabbing the remote control and flicking on the giant television inlaid into the wall opposite the couch, looking casual as ever. 

You take a deep breath, hand to your chest, trying to get a hold of yourself. You glance around and notice the obscene streaks on the window where the woman’s body had pressed against the glass. You let out a sigh and go to fetch the glass cleaner. 

Diego snakes out a hand and grabs the bottom of your t-shirt as you pass by the couch. 

He keeps his eyes fixed on the TV as he speaks, “Sit with me for a little while.”

For a second you’re at a loss for words as your brain tries to keep up with Diego’s rapid mood changes. Lust…dismissal…neediness. You’re also working through your own tumult of emotions. You’re still–ahem–worked up about what just happened. And confused about feeling jealous. And humiliated at being the third wheel to this man to whom you’re growing increasingly more attached despite your best efforts. 

“I was going to clean the window? It’s all…smudged. Again. Maybe–maybe you could do that someplace else next time?” You can’t look at him. In fact you’d really like to hide in a little nook for a while or possibly the rest of eternity.

He just pats the seat next to him and dismisses your concern, “It can wait.”

You let out a shaky sigh and settle stiffly beside him on the couch. Diego is lying stretched out on the cushions and as soon as you sit he scoots up to rest his head in your lap, giving a little contented sigh as he flips through the channels. Your face is stricken with indecision, your hands hovering in the air over him. What is he doing? And why? And… _oh god_ the wetness between your legs is a damning sign of your lingering arousal– _can he?_ You might die.

You finally rest your hand on his bare shoulder, fingers tentatively rubbing gentle circles into his skin. Diego purrs in satisfaction and nuzzles his face against your thigh. Yeah, you’re dead now. But he just lays there, head in your lap, one hand wrapped around your knee, and watches a soccer match on TV. Questions swirl through your mind and you start talking before your brain has a chance to do anything about it.

“Diego, why do you–I mean…,” you flounder and grasp for words to voice questions you’re afraid to ask. _Why did you do that? Why did you pick me? Why do you…like me? What do you want?_ But–even after being forced to watch him in his most unguarded, intimate moments–you can’t bring yourself to voice these questions that are too personal to be asking your boss.

It doesn’t matter because–yet again–Diego reads your mind. His voice holds a tone of amused condescension as he speaks, “You seem so…innocent. And good. It’s funny! I like to watch you get all embarrassed and flustered.”

You narrow your eyes at the back of his head, annoyed to have your fears confirmed: that he’s just been toying with you for his own amusement. But when you remove your hand from his shoulder to card your fingers through his hair and he gives another contented purr you start to question if he’s being straight forward with you. He clings to you like someone starved for affection–which–that can’t be true considering what you’ve just witnessed, right? But this is different, isn’t it? Diego is soft and comfortable. He’s not putting on a show. He’s seeking comfort from someone…what? Different? Someone who doesn’t know shit about his business. Someone who’s afraid of getting high off cocaine by accidentally breathing it in? Someone he calls…innocent? And good?

The elevator doors ping and all at once Diego stiffens in your lap, sitting up and roughly pushing your hand away. It’s beyond stupid that you feel hurt at his sudden withdrawal. But you do. His whole demeanor changes before your eyes, face closing off, guards coming up. One of his guys strides forward and you see him eyeing you sitting on the couch with little invisible question marks in the air around his head. Diego does too.

“Get back to work,” he orders, voice cold and hard once more. You nod and get up, scurrying away to get started on your chores and determinedly suppressing the hurt feelings that he’d only see as another sign of your weakness.

***

Diego’s been enjoying toying with you for a few weeks before he starts to question if he’s let you get too close. It’s the night of the roof top party when Ángel starts asking insolent questions that he should no better to keep to himself.

“Yo, Diego! That new maid you have is cute as hell, huh?”

Diego is lounging on the rooftop patio, an amazonian beauty currently worshiping him on her knees. His face darkens and he regards the other man with narrowed eyes.

He addresses him between gasps of pleasure, his words rushed, “I told you before she’s not for you, Ángel.”

Ángel laughs and claps Diego on the shoulder, “It’s like that? Never thought Diego Jiménez would catch feelings…”

Diego’s orgasm interrupts the conversation. He grabs the girl by the hair and holds her head still as he fucks into her mouth, grunting with aggressive passion as he finishes. Ángel looks away, backs off. He misses the murderous gleam in Diego’s eye.

***

It’s hard to call it a routine since Diego’s life is so chaotic and unpredictable–but you get used to the flow of events that surround your employer. Most days you arrive at the penthouse to find a massive mess from the party the night before. You grumble and sigh and shoot annoyed glances at him when he deigns to wake up, but you remind yourself that the money is enough to pay off your car loan sooner and maybe (finally) move into a better apartment–so you deal with it. 

The other stuff is more… difficult. Sometimes all you have to endure is watching a gorgeous woman’s walk of shame as she leaves the apartment. But other times it’s… _more_. Diego definitely loves an audience. And you seem to be his favorite. He always wants you touching him in some way while he takes his pleasure from the nameless women who line up to sleep with him. You’re disgusted with yourself that you keep letting him play with you like this. But a part of you wants to be near to him anyway you can, delighting that he lets you this close, even if it’s downright insulting. What if this is all he ever offers you?

You shake those morose thoughts from your head as you enter the penthouse and do a double take at the pristine rooms. Nothing out of place, no half-dressed bodies passed out on the furniture? You practically skip into the living room thinking how much easier your day will be because Diego–apparently–spent a single night not partying. 

You should have known better.

Diego’s bent over the coffee table as you walk in, snorting a line of coke off the glass. You freeze in place, feeling like you’ve disturbed a private moment. Which is beyond dumb, girl–how many of Diego’s “private moments” have you witnessed? But you’ve never seen him getting high before…

He wipes his nose and looks up at you with bright eyes, cracking his neck with pent up energy. He has a look on his face that’s positively feral and you take a step back, feeling fear you haven’t felt in weeks. 

“Diego. Are you…okay?” you ask. _Are you okay?_ He’s probably feeling _just fine_ –what is the matter with you?

He smirks cruelly up at you, “Sweet, innocent, Y/N. You’re scandalized? _Really?_ You know what I am.”

You try to sound casual and non-judgmental as you reply. Of course you know what he does for business. It’s just…

“It’s just…I’ve never seen _you_ –”

“You want me to fuck you so bad but you can’t handle all of me, can you? Little girl,” derision drips from his words. _Okay, what the fuck?_

You feel tears stinging your eyes at his words. So this is what he’s like when he’s high. Charming. You turn from him and walk over to the closet to grab your cleaning supplies.

“Hey,” he calls after you, “You need to go up to the patio and clean up. We were up on the roof last night.”

You freeze with your back to him, feeling the creeping sensation of panic on the back of your neck. Is he kidding?

“Diego…I–I can’t do that…”

He stands and looms over you, his eyes are mean.

“What the fuck am I paying you for? There’s a mess up there that needs cleaning.” 

“But–”

He puts his hand on the back of your neck and squeezes. Just as he did that first day. You don’t understand why he’s being like this. He’s been so soft with you lately. You try a different tactic, bringing your hand up to cup his stubbled jaw as you look into his eyes. His eyes melt a little at your touch.

“You know how I’m afraid of heights. Isn’t there someone else…”

But his eyes harden again almost immediately and he rips away from you. You barely catch a panicked look on his face as he turns away. He’s let himself be too vulnerable with you. He can’t afford that. Not if people are starting to _notice._

“I pay you to clean,” he says in a monotone, with his back on you. “Go do that.”

***

The biblical mess that awaits you on the rooftop patio is actually a blessing in disguise. It’s so bad that you’re too busy to acknowledge your crippling fear for a little while. It’s only after the first hour of bagging, scrubbing and disinfecting–when things are starting to look more civilized–that you feel the fear return. It’s about time to head down and toss the trash anyways, so you make your way to the door, lugging three full garbage bags. 

A painful knot in your throat forms when you see the door sealed shut. You’d left a chair propping it open so you wouldn’t get locked out, but the chair is on its side and the door stands shut, like a stone locking you inside a tomb. 

_Okay, wow_ –that was really melodramatic. Maybe it’s not locked. You try the knob. Definitely not moving. _Calm, deep breaths_. You set the bags down and try the door knob again, turning it in all directions, pulling, pressing and tugging with increased energy as the panic takes hold. You’re stuck. You’re stuck up here. The wind blew the chair over. What if. What if… _oh my god._

No. You’re not getting blown away with the wind. There is a–very inadequate–fence around the roof to protect you. You’ll be fine. You’ll just…send a text Diego and he’ll come let you inside and it will all be…

Fine.

> To: Beefy Boss Boi
> 
> Hey I’m stuck up on the roof. Can you come let me back inside? Thanks.

You force yourself to sound cool and collected in the text, even as you’re getting down on your hands and knees and starting to shake. Diego will get the message and be here before you know it.

***

Nothing like an unexpected visit from his sister to completely destroy Diego’s fucking high. Not like he was really enjoying himself, he admits. Sitting around thinking about how hurt you looked when he was mean to you earlier. _Fuck_. It’s worth it, though. He can’t keep letting you get under his skin. If Alicia even suspected there was someone he– nope. Fuck that train of thought. Diego does not catch feelings. He fucks. And parties. And occasionally hurts people for fun. That’s it.

He thinks about fucking Ángel asking questions about you last night. Insinuating. Had he really been so transparent? That motherfucker won’t be talking again…ever. But he needs to end this anyway.

And now he’s got the queen of all buzzkills to help him get yo off his mind. Fucking hooray.

She swans through his penthouse, looking around critically as if she’s inspecting the housekeeping. Diego feels a flare of anger on your behalf. But when she finally gets around to the purpose of her visit it’s a familiar criticism.

“You’re having too many parties, Diego. You need to fucking calm down for a while. Too many people in and out of this place. Who screens these people? Who knows who they go and talk to afterwards? Do you understand me?”

Diego’s phone vibrates from inside his pocket but he ignores it. 

“ _I_ screen them, Alicia,” he responds stonily. She has no faith in him. 

“Diego, I’m not asking. I’m telling. Cool it for a while.”

She leaves and Diego stalks into his bedroom like a sullen teen. _Fucking bitch_.

***

You’ve sent Diego about twenty text messages and he’s still not here. It’s been about an hour since you realized you were trapped and you’re just curled up on the ground clutching your phone to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut. Imagine you’re someplace safe. Ugh! Your mind decides to supply you with an image of Diego’s stupid face. Diego who is ignoring your texts because he’s mad at you for no reason?

Finally, the door slams open and you hear his voice call your name. You’re too far gone to even look up. He rushes over and wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest and pressing soft kisses into your hair. A faint voice inside pipes up and says you should try to enjoy this feeling while it lasts. A louder voice is still wailing, _Danger! Danger! Danger!_

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers, tucking his arms underneath you and picking you up in one swift motion. Ugh, first time in your life getting carried bridal-style by a guy strong enough to lift your dead weight ass and you’re basically incoherent. You cling to his shoulders with bruising force until you’re back in the safety of the stairwell. 

When he finally gets you back into the penthouse you nearly sob with relief. You never thought you’d feel so safe in this place. He tucks you into the leather couch and leaves to dash up to his bedroom, returning with the massive coverlet stripped from his bed. He wraps you in it, cocooning you in the rich fabric until you feel like a safe little burrito. He’s so attentive and considerate. So…not Diego. He tucks the blanket around you and then just kneels there next to you, watching your tear streaked face as you take everything in.

How are you supposed to deal with this? Earlier he was so cruel and now he’s acting all…sweet and caring. You have whiplash from his mood swings. You decide you don’t need to deal with anything right now except calming down and feeling better. You lay your head back against the armrest and close your eyes, steadying your breathing.

Diego stares down at you. He’s still feeling the aftereffects of the fear that had gripped him when he finally glanced at his phone and saw all of your increasingly panicked text messages. How could he ask you to go up there when he knows how scared you are of heights? He’d been selfish and juvenile. Everything Alicia thinks of him is true. He scowls in self disgust and clenches his fists in his hair. _So stupid!_

You open your eyes to see Diego’s anguished expression and you feel every ounce of anger and betrayal bleed out of your system. You lift a hand to cup his cheek and whisper, “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Diego frowns and answers, “The next time I ask you to do something like that. Tell me no. Okay? You…you don’t have to do whatever I tell you. You’re…”

_Different…special…beautiful…innocent…good…_

But he can’t say the words. Of course he can’t. Instead he leans down and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with all of the grace and gentleness you’ve never seen him give to any of his lovers. 

When he pulls away you can already see the seed of regret and denial in his eyes but you choose to ignore it for now.


	3. Chapter 3

The Kiss happens on a Friday, so you have the whole weekend to stew about it. You’re thankful to have your Saturdays and Sundays off even if it means Mondays are hell. It’s late Saturday night and you’re curled up on the couch trying to focus on your book and failing because you keep flashing back to the impossibly soft caress of Diego’s lips against yours. You’ve witnessed him lost in passion, all bruising fingers and unrelenting hips. But you’ve never seen him kiss before. You bring your fingertips up to ghost along your lips, recalling the sensation. You think you’ve seen him let go before, but now you question yourself. When Diego kissed you with all of the tender, soft reverence you’ve only ever glimpsed, you finally saw him with his guards down.

Your phone vibrates against the surface of your cheap Ikea coffee table and you let your book fall to your lap. You’ve read the same paragraph five times at this point. You unlock the phone and your eyes widen when you see who it’s from.

_From: Beefy Boss Boi_

_I don’t blame you for kissing me. But it can’t happen again._

You stare at the words with a look of disgusted confusion and force yourself not to type out a reply immediately. What a… _fucking_ asshole! If he thinks you’re going to let him gaslight you…

_To: Beefy Boss Boi_

_Ok. *You* kissed *me* by the way. Have a good night._

There. Polite. Profesh. Pointed. There’s so much more you want to say. Was he thinking about the kiss too? Pressing his fingers to his lips and remembering how you felt? Does he really regret it or is he just saving face? And, more to the point–if he doesn’t want to kiss anymore–if he wants to be more professional–then maybe he should also stop dragging you into his sex scenarios like a fucking prop.

Unlikely.

He texts you back a minute later and you grab for your phone with a quickness that makes you cringe. _Oh, this is so not good_. He’s the textbook definition of emotionally unavailable and you’re hanging on his every word. You open the text and your lips turn down in an angry frown.

It’s a blurry selfie of Diego with his arm thrown over yet another beautiful woman. It looks like they’re in a booth–probably the VIP section of some club you’ve never even heard of. She’s dark-haired and blemish free, looking like an airbrushed model in the flesh. Her face is turned toward Diego and she’s dragging her tongue along his stubbled cheek.

_From: Beefy Boss Boi_

_Why would I kiss you?_

You slam the phone down on the table as your eyes prick with bitter tears. _Asshole_. He’s being cruel on purpose. Throwing it in your face that women who are more beautiful than you line up around the block to worship him. Why would he fuck with you? You’re _the help_. Never mind that he clings to you for comfort when he’s done with his whores. That means nothing.

You get up from the couch, letting the book fall to the cushions and losing your place. Maybe a shower will wash away your hurt.

It doesn’t. But at least you feel fresh and clean and your eyes no longer burn with tears. Your phone still sits on the coffee table like a mine that’ll explode as soon as you pick it up. You force yourself to ignore it. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of responding to his meanness.

It’s a couple hours later when the phone vibrates again. You’re a few episodes into a Netflix binge session that has mercifully helped you to clear your head. Your hand hovers in the air over the phone. You should ignore it. It’s not good for your sanity. But…it might not be _him_ …yeah, right

You pick up the phone with a defeated groan. _Why are you like this?_ When you open the text you have to roll your eyes.

_Beefy Boss Boi:_

_i only kissed you because you were hysterical and I was trying to calm you down_

So, now he admits to kissing you but only– _what?_ –as an act of kindness? You wonder if he’s still at the club or if he’s home now, coming down from his high, coming down from his lust, and once again reaching out to you. Well, this time he can’t have your comfort. You lock the phone again without answering.

Your eyes are heavy and you feel a headache coming on. You decide to turn in. Watching Netflix while your…inappropriate, one-sided love interest is out getting his dick sucked is just too depressing to contemplate. Your phone vibrates several more times while you’re brushing your teeth. _Damn it._

Under the covers, safe and bundled with your cat, Piglet, purring away on your lap–you should definitely just ignore your phone and go to sleep, right? _Right? Sigh…_

_[Image description: Android phone screen, a series of text messages  
_

_From: Beefy Boss Boi_

_1:07AM_

_1: i only kissed you because you were hysterical and I was trying to calm you down_

_1:21 AM_

_i kissed that girl tonight…she tasted like vodka and weed. I made her go down on my gun…and thennn…… …_

_1:22AM_

_you tasted like cherries_

_1:41AM_

_4: Was that your lip gloss?_

_1:42AM_

_5: What r u doing?_

_1:47AM_

_6: r u sleeping?]_

Diego’s texts are a window into his drunk/high brain and you won’t lie–you’re pleased that he’s obviously just as hung up on the kiss as you are, despite his pitiful attempts to deny it. You’re not dumb. You can read between the lines. You were right earlier. He’s reaching out to you again because he needs someone to reassure him and comfort him. He has this…wild and dangerous persona that he feeds with drugs and sex, but when its over and he’s raw and vulnerable? It’s you that he wants. Your heart swells and you’re feeling generous. You type out a response. You really don’t want to encourage the oversharing, the exhibitionism, his earlier cruel comments…but you _care_. _Stupidly. Unbelievably. Regrettably._

_2:01AM_

_Are you okay, Diego?_

He doesn’t answer for a while and you just sit there with your phone in your hands, stroking Piggy’s fur. You hope he’s somewhere safe. You hope he’s not out…on the streets with his gun…with other men with guns… for the first time you actually think about what it means for him to be involved in the type of “business” he runs. 

Finally he answers.

_2:17AM_

_Night, little girl…_


	4. Chapter 4

You’re feeling pretty smug about how cool and detached you seemed over texts with Diego. Of course…he doesn’t know he made you cry. All he knows is you ignored him for most of the night. Maybe you were on a date. Or out with friends. Instead of…staying in with your cat and fantasizing about a chaste kiss. _Whatever._ You steel yourself on the ride up to the penthouse, determined not to let anything Diego does today break your shell. Today you’ll be cold-hearted. Unbreakable. Today you’re a bad bitch.

Your stomach liquefies a little as the elevator doors slide open. _Really–self? Couldn’t last thirty seconds?_

You’re actually pretty early for work today. But Mondays are always such a nightmare, you figure getting a head start will be worth it. You’re prepared for a mess. Or some Caligula-level display of fornication. But today you walk in on something you haven’t yet encountered in your weeks working for Diego Jiménez Today you walk into a business meeting. And it doesn’t sound very friendly.

Diego’s voice greets you as you step off the elevator. His words are cold, arrogant, cruel.

“ _No, no no_ , Tony. You have me all wrong. It’s not what I’m going to do to you if you don’t tell me where my money is. It’s what I’m going to do to that pretty wife of yours…”

You freeze in mid-stride. Diego’s words cut through the air between you. Your palms are suddenly sweaty and stars dance in your vision like you’re about to faint– _God, why is your body’s response to danger to just…play dead_? You take a step back, hitting the metal doors of the elevator. Should you go back down? But surely they heard the noise of the chime and the doors opening?

As if on cue one of Diego’s guys–Julio, right?–rounds the corner and stalks over to you, roughly grabbing you by your upper arm and dragging you out of the alcove. Now you can see Diego standing in the middle of the living room with a man trembling on his knees before him. Diego’s holding a gun in his hands and it’s…the flashiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. It’s gold, with a giant suppressor to match. If you weren’t currently about to pee your pants in fear you might laugh at how… _*Diego*_ that is. 

He looks over at you and his cold, stony facade trembles for a moment. His eyes flash with anger and the muscle in his jaw ticks with his frustration. You stare back at him, eyes wide with trepidation, but you keep jerking your gaze down to the man kneeling on the floor. His face is covered in blood and he’s breathing funny.

Diego parts his lips and growls your name, “…I _really_ wish you weren’t here right now.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind, “I–uh–I’m early. Sorry, I’ll just–maybe–wait downstairs until you’re–until you’re ready? Or…or I can go home–please, I think I want to go home.”

Diego’s eyes shift to Julio and his voice comes out cold and collected once more, “Put her upstairs in my room for now.”

The man tightens his fingers on your arm and steers you toward the stairs. Diego’s voice stops you, “Julio! Don’t touch her. Just put her in my room and get back down here.”

Julio’s fingers fall away from your arm, he gives you a little prod in between your shoulder blades to move you forward and you walk up the stairs on shaky legs, not daring to look back at Diego.

The bedroom is sparsely decorated like the rest of Diego’s place, but it’s a little more chaotic in here since he doesn’t like you to clean his room other than to change the sheets and make the bed. Julio shoves you inside and slams the door closed behind you. The walls are thick and you can’t hear much from inside. You let out a shaky breath and sit on the edge of Diego’s mattress. The blankets and sheets are rumpled, slept in, and you have the mad urge to lay down and bury your face in his pillows, breathing in the scent of him. But…but he’s downstairs holding a man at gunpoint.

It’s not like you don’t know about his business. You know he carries a gun with him when he goes out. It’s just…it’s just up until now the Diego you know has been selfish, stubborn, wild, soft, kinky, needy, sexy, childish… he’s been a lot of things. But you’ve never felt afraid of him before. Until now you’ve never seen the side of him capable of violence. What are you supposed to do with this?

Your hands shake in your lap and you catch them between your legs, squeezing your thighs until the shaking stops and rocking back and forth a little in self-comfort. Maybe–maybe you won’t have long to worry about what to do with this new information. The look in Diego’s eyes when he saw you…

There was _murder_ in those eyes.

It’s a long time before the door to the bedroom finally opens. You look up, expecting to see Julio coming to collect you but it’s Diego standing in the doorway. He leans against the door frame and you catch the deadly gleam of the gun held loosely at his side. He walks in with slow, measured strides and takes a seat beside you on the bed, not saying a word. He’s hunched forward resting his forearms on his thighs, letting the gun dangle from his grip. But the clear threat of its presence is enough to take your breath away. He lets out a long, frustrated sigh and runs shaking fingers through his hair. _You’ve always loved his hair_ –what an odd thought to have at this moment. 

You watch him, your body tense with anxiety but still– _still_ you turn toward him like you’re a magnet and he’s true north. Something about him attracts you, pulling you in even as your hind brain warns you to watch this man with the predator’s eyes.

“Diego,” you whisper. “I can just go home. I didn’t…didn’t see–”

He growls in frustration, finally raising his furious gaze and directing it at you, “Well, you _can’t_ now, can you? Why? WHY did you come in early today?”

 _You can’t go home_. The skin on your face flashes hot and cold and the hairs on your arms stand up. You feel like a rabbit whose frantic heartbeat quivers through its body as the hungry coyote watches with golden, deadly eyes. 

You clench your hands into fists in your lap. For a moment words won’t come, and then you’re babbling, “I…on Mondays I always get breakfast at this cafe, The Usual Place, near my apartment? They have these amazing croissants. I’ll–I’ll bring you one next time. Well, anyway there’s always a huge, long line. Only today there wasn’t. And…and when I got here I knew it was too early but I thought I’d get an early start and then maybe be able to leave early later…”

“Sh, sh, shhh,” he cuts his hand through the air between you. “I need to think.”

Your mouth snaps shut and you watch him. The muscles of his shoulders are tense beneath his too-tight button down shirt. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, tensing his other hand around the grip of the gun. He lips part and he emits a whining little moan that rings with frustration, fear, longing and anger. He’s _distraught_. 

You should leave him alone. Better not to poke the bear and all that. But…but you think about how he seems to crave connection…guileless affection. So you do yet another stupid thing and you reach out a shaking hand and slowly– _so slowly_ –place it on his trembling shoulder. 

Diego _melts_ , leaning into your touch like a dog seeking attention from its master. He lets out a mewling keen and before you know it his whole body is pressed into your side, his head cradled on your shoulder, his soft hair brushing against your neck. He reaches over to wrap his arm around your waist, still holding the gun in his hand.

Not knowing what else to do and more than willing to sink into this dangerous man’s embrace– _and what does that say about you?_ –you wrap your arms around him. Your fingers card gently through his hair, and you murmur little comforting sounds into the crown of his head even as his gun–still warm from firing–digs into your back.

“It’s okay…it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you whisper over and over as much to yourself as to Diego.

Diego sinks into you, letting your words and your arms surround him. He feels the gun in his hands like a live coal, burning, itching, a reminder of who he really is amidst the spell of your affection.

He takes a steadying breath, sitting up and looming over you, bringing the golden, gleaming weapon up to caress the still-warm metal against your cheek. He looks into your eyes, expecting to find fear and disgust and instead he finds you’re looking at him with a look of…of trust? If not trust then…an expectation that he won’t hurt you.

“I _wish_ …” he says, unable to complete the thought, even thinking, as he foolishly does, that this is an ending.

“Diego,” you say in a voice firmer than you’d thought possible. Maybe the pep talk in the elevator was finally kicking in. You reach up and brush the gun away from your face and his arm drops like it’s made of lead. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to put on a show…not with me.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows against the ball of emotion forming in his throat. Diego doesn’t get _emotional_. He isn’t _needy_. He doesn’t show mercy or…or love. Then why– _why does this girl make him feel_ –

He pulls away from you and the suddenness of it makes you feel the loss of his warm body. You watch him release the magazine from the gun and unscrew the suppressor. He clunks it all down on the table next to the bed and rounds on you. He still has the eyes of a predator but this time it sends a tiny thrill through your lower belly. He crawls over the bed toward you, stalking you with the languid prowl of a big cat. Your mind helpfully supplies you with a random scene from Big Cat Diary–a leopard stalking through tall grass, eyes fixed and murderous. You’re panting with anticipation as Diego crawls over you, pressing you down into the mattress.

He brings his face down, ghosting his lips over yours and whispering, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Diego is lust personified. Even buttoned up and fully clothed he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever… _technically._..shared a bed with. You’ve seen him naked as the day he was born. You’ve touched his bare skin and tasted his lips. But you’ve never been the object of his undivided sexual attention before. You’ve never felt him eyeing you, trapping you with his body and intending to conquer you.

Your voice comes out in a mortifying squeak, “O-okay.”

His lips are on you, forceful and dominating–nothing like last week’s innocent kiss. This is the kiss of a man who’s just committed murder. His mustache and stubble burn against your sensitive skin and the sweet pain makes your toes curl inside your sneakers. He digs his fingers into your hair, cradling your head in a firm grip as he flicks out his tongue and forces your lips apart. You’re more than willing to open for him. You want this man. This deranged, sensual, dangerous, spellbinding man. You want him for your own. You’ve spent weeks watching him with other women and biting back your jealousy. Now it’s your turn.

Diego shifts until he’s lying between your spread legs, his erection rubbing against you through the fabric of your jeans. You want it…you want it… _you want it_. His kisses are like a drug, searing into your skin and entering your bloodstream, making your head fuzzy with lust. Blocking your inner voice, the one reflecting that this isn’t– _quite_ –the healthiest response to being threatened with a gun by this man. 

“Diego,” you pant against his lips. You need to tell him something. You need to… stop. “Diego! Wait…wait, wait, wait.”

He pulls away from your bruised lips, holding your face between his massive hands as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown out, eyes bright with fevered lust. _Ugh, why do you have to stop this again?_

“I don’t–I mean, I think…,” you’re honestly really mad at yourself right now and considering just telling him to take off your pants and fuck you however he wants but. But. This isn’t how you want it. “I _want_ you, Diego–”

“I want you too!” he interrupts, laying a sloppy kiss on your lips, “So bad, little girl, I want you so bad.”

“I know. I know you do. But…not–not like this?”

He pulls away again, balancing on his elbows over you and looking down with concern in his eyes now. _Oh my god_ –you’ve never seen him look so soft and worried. He moves away entirely, sitting back with a look of horror on his face, “I didn’t mean to–I would never…”

“No! Diego, no,” You sit up too, facing him and taking his hand in yours. _Lord, this man’s hands_ –, “I said I want you, Diego. It’s just. Well–you were thinking about shooting me like ten minutes ago, weren’t you?”

Diego grimaces and his fingers tighten around yours, “I wouldn’t have done it!”

_This fucking guy._

“Yeah,” you say. “I know…but still. You were thinking about it.”

Diego pants as the arousal gradually leaves his system. You just sit there for a while holding his hand, feeling connected to this bizarre, landmine of a man.

“Okay,” he finally says and you can feel him starting to pull back emotionally again. _Oh, no you don’t you little shit._

“Diego!” you whine, grabbing his face in your hands and smashing your lips against his in an exasperated kiss. “Maybe…instead of seducing me with death threats. You could invite me over one night? And I could maybe wear something that isn’t jeans and a t-shirt? And we could eat dinner…and watch Netflix…and….? Doesn’t that sound…nice?”

He’s looking at you’re suggesting something he’s never entertained in his wildest dreams.

“ _Nice?_ ” his voice is gruff, doubtful.

“Yeah…I mean it’s no cocaine fueled orgy, but it might be… _nice_.”

Diego shakes his head slowly and he meets your eyes with a look of amusement and relief, “Okay. _Maybe_.”

You roll your eyes. _Seriously…_

“Oh, and Diego?” you say, scooting to the edge of the bed and standing up on spaghetti legs.

Diego’s still looking a little flustered and lost in the middle of his gigantic bed. _He’ll live_. He looks up at you, “Yeah?”

“I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

***

On your way out you glance over at the spot on the floor where the man had knelt. It’s pristine. Not a spot or splatter. Like he’d never been there at all…


	5. Chapter 5

It’s not like you expect Diego to send flowers and chocolates and a barbershop quartet… But…you’re disappointed when your Netflix and chill suggestion seems to evaporate from his thoughts over the next few days. He’s obviously very busy. You spend your days flitting around the penthouse while Diego takes non-stop phone calls. It’s clear something big is going down although you only understand one in five words with your high school Spanish. You decide that’s probably for the best. Even if you secretly love listening to Diego’s rumbling voice enunciate the unfamiliar syllables. Maybe he’ll teach you one day…

_One day…when he gets his head out of his ass?_

By the end of the week you resolve yourself to Diego’s caprice. Either he’ll grow up and make a move or he’ll…continue to taunt you with his sexiness from afar. _Ugh._ Friday morning is frigid and it’s sleeting as you walk from the subway station to Diego’s apartment building. The freezing rain soaks through your knit hat and scarf, leaving you damp and shivering despite your giant, dowdy winter coat. It’s been pretty mild this year so this is the first time you’ve walked into Diego’s building in your complete winter get-up. The security man does a double take when he sees you walk in, not recognizing the roly-poly, chunky knit, walking L.L. Bean ad. You’re sure the girls that Diego hangs with will continue to go out in miniskirts and strappy sandals all winter long. But you don’t like being cold. 

Diego’s leaning on the kitchen counter sipping a cup of steaming coffee when the elevator doors open to reveal you in all your glory: soggy, dripping and miserable. He nearly spits out his coffee as you slump your way over to the closet and begin peeling off your layers of outerwear.

“Shut up,” you grumble miserably. “It’s freezing! And you might have noticed it’s raining–I mean your windows are big enough.”

Your jacket falls off the hanger and lands with a wet plop on the floor of the closet. You leave it there, shutting the closet door and going to join Diego in the kitchen. 

“Gimme coffee!” you demand and–feeling bold and edgy–grab the mug out of his hands and take a big sip from his cup. You grimace, “Ugh! This needs milk!”

“Well, it was my coffee, actually. You can have your own…” but you’re already going over to the refrigerator and pouring Diego’s almond milk creamer into the cup, filling it almost to the brim before taking another taste. 

“Better,” you sigh and watch him make another cup for himself. “…thanks.”

He looks up and smiles at you and the dimple in his cheek makes you weak in the knees. How can he look so boyishly charming when he’s an actual…

Your hands are slowly thawing, cupped around the ceramic mug but a shiver wracks your body nonetheless. It’s partially in response to the memory of his fingers wrapped around the golden handgun and partially because you’re still pretty damn cold and you’ve only worn a t-shirt under your coat like a moron.

“Come here,” he says, holding out his arms, eyebrow arched expectantly.

 _Murderer, schmurderer._ You set the cup down on the counter and step into his arms. Diego wraps his hands around your bare arms and hisses in sympathy at how cold you are. He rubs his palms vigorously over your frozen skin, warming you with the friction as if he were a boy scout trying to light a fire. _Heh–he’s already lit a fire…_

You’re boneless, wavering before him as his hands run over your arms until you finally lean forward and let your forehead rest on his chest. You feel his chest rumble against your cheek as he purrs in response to your closeness. 

“Should have brought a sweatshirt with me,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Hold on,” he says, pulling away. You curse yourself for speaking and breaking the moment. He goes upstairs and comes back a moment later holding a black cashmere sweater in his hands. “Put this on.”

He hands you the bundle of fabric and you let your fingers roam over the rich fibers. You can think of more amusing ways for him to keep you warm but you’re still touched by the gesture.

“Diego. This is too nice to wear doing housework…”

He rolls his eyes at you and smirks, “Just put it on. You feel like an icicle.”

Of course you’re quietly–stupidly–thrilled. You pull it on over your head and delight in how the sleeves fall over your hands and the bottom hem extends halfway down your thighs. Diego’s eyes glimmer as they drift over your form, secretly pleased to see you dwarfed in his shirt. He clears his throat and turns away abruptly to fiddle with the coffee maker. With his back to you, you bring the collar of the sweater up to your nose to give it a little surreptitious sniff. _Mmm…beefy boi scented._ You try to squirm your way back into his arms but he’s already distracted, looking down at his phone.

“By the way…I need you to leave early today. I have a lunch meeting,” he says absentmindedly as he scrolls through text messages.

You throw him a withering glance. Leaving early as in doing the same amount of work in half the time?

“ _Fine_ , but I’m just doing your sheets and laundry. The rest can wait,” the words themselves sound authoritative, but your tone wavers a little at the end. You’re still unsure in asserting yourself to this man who can intimidate you even if he occasionally dissolves into a needy puddle at your touch.

He looks at you with that enigmatic gaze of his. You try to keep your chin up even as your insides quake. He finally nods wordlessly and turns back to his phone.

***

You’ve just finished putting away the folded linens when Julio walks up to you, “Boss says time to go. I’m driving you home.”

You look up at him and frown in confusion, “You’re driving me home?”

Julio just shakes his head in shared bemusement, “Diego wants me to drive you from now on. I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you home at the end of the day.”

Julio tries to rush you out the door but you stop him at the elevator, “I need to grab my coat, hold on.”

You get your coat from the closet and head back into the living room where Diego is lounging on the couch. He looks up at you with a self-satisfied expression, “Julio told you he’ll be driving you from now on?”

“Yeah?” you answer, “Diego, I don’t–I don’t really know him that well?”

You’re actually thinking about the way Julio’s hand dug into your arm, the way he seemed so ready to deliver you to his boss like a sacrifice when you’d witnessed too much. The memory doesn’t exactly make you feel comfortable spending time with the man.

Diego stands, his height towering over your small frame. He cups his hands around your face and tilts your head back to meet his gaze, “I trust Julio with my life, little girl. And yours. He’ll protect you. Besides…it’s still raining. And soon it will be snowing…”

He leans down quicker than you can process and pecks a chaste kiss to your forehead. _What the fuck? My lips are right here, buddy._ Before he can pull away you grab his shirt collar and tug him down to smash your lips against his. He responds to the kiss, opening his lips and letting you slip your tongue into his mouth, stroking, lapping, nipping. He growls as he tears himself away. 

“You need to leave now,” he pants. “I don’t want my…guests…seeing you here.”

“But…,” you smirk, licking your lips and giving him a knowing look, “I’m just the maid.”

***

Julio is silent on the ride down to the lobby. You fidget, balancing your bag and your still damp jacket on your arm. You catch his eye at one point and try to give him a little smile. He looks like he’s still puzzling out why the hell his boss is spending so much effort on you. 

_Cool. Start to a beautiful friendship and all that._

When you step off the elevator into the lobby Julio turns to you and finally speaks, “Wait here, I’ll get the car.”

“Sure!” you answer in your chipper, we-can-be-friends voice. If Julio is Diego’s right hand man, or whatever, then you want to be at least _friendly_ , if not full-fledged friends.

You watch him walk away and you notice two men approaching the private elevator. You shuffle out of their way but not before one of them catches you with a penetrating gaze. He’s a white guy, blond buzz cut, tall–hulking really would the correct terminology–with definite crazy eyes. He stares at you like he’s trying to see into your soul. You stare back not because you’re trying to seem unaffected but because you just can’t look away. You watch his eyes widen as they flick downward. You glance down at yourself, realizing that you’re still wearing Diego’s over-sized, expensive sweater. When you look back up the man is still watching you, this time with a malicious looking grin on his lips. 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says with false sincerity, grasping your elbow in his large hand and giving the slightest squeeze as if to hint at the strength withheld. He doesn’t let go right away. Not until his partner, an elegant, handsome black man, finally addresses him.

“Tommy,” there’s a hint of warning and exasperation in the man’s voice. 

The man–Tommy–finally lets you go. You watch them both step onto the elevator, unease shivering down your spine. Even as you walk across the lobby and go outside to meet Julio…you still feel Tommy’s gaze crawling over your skin.


	6. Chapter 6

Julio sends you a text when he gets to your building. You peer down through the sheer curtains of your living room window. The shiny, black Cadillac SUV sticks out like a sore thumb on your street. Your neighbors probably think you’re in witness protection or something. _If they only knew the truth…_

You send him thirty heart emojis in response. It’s been a week since Julio started driving you and you think you’ve managed to successfully weasel into his good graces. The key is to annoy him with friendship. A talent of yours, luckily.

You press a kiss to Pig’s head on your way out the door. 

“Bye, my baby!” you whisper into her calico fur. She blinks up at you and stretches out on the couch in luxury as you leave. 

It’s flurrying outside and now that you don’t have to walk in it you can appreciate how pretty the city looks under a fresh blanket of snow. You hop up into the passenger seat–literally hopping, you’re short and this vehicle is giant–and take pleasure in the heated leather seats. 

“Hey,” Julio greets you, handing you a cup of coffee.

You stare at it like he’s just handed you the Olympic torch. Then he gestures to the box on the center console and you squawk in joy.

“Julio! You got me coffee?? And…and–” you open the box–“Croissants! You went to The Usual Place? For me? I knew you liked me. Now we’re friends forever!”

Julio rolls his eyes and groans dramatically but you spot the tiniest indentation of his lips, the smallest hint of a smile. 

“Just don’t eat all the chocolate ones,” he grumbles.

You smile and warm your hands on the coffee cup as he pulls away from the curb. You’re really getting spoiled having him drive you to and from work every day. How will you be able to deal when you have to get yourself to the store to buy groceries this weekend? Unthinkable! You laugh a little under your breath. How quickly the snobbery becomes you.

Julio watches you from the corner of his eye and smiles sadly. He went out of his way this morning to make you happy. He’s still pissed at Diego. Julio has watched his boss pull you into passing kisses and embraces all week long. He doesn’t think anything else has happened yet–God knows Diego’ll let him know when it does. But he sees how you can’t stop smiling after Diego kisses you. And–despite his best efforts to remain aloof–you’ve somehow managed to make Julio like you. So he was pissed when his boss asked him to pick up Francesca and two of her friends last and bring them to the penthouse. He loves Diego but the boy can be stupid. And unintentionally cruel. He just prays you don’t find out. And he prays Diego isn’t stupid enough to continue his exhibitionist shit with you now that everything is…changing.

“Julio?” 

You startle him from his musings and he arches an eyebrow at you comically, watching you stuff the last bite of croissant into your mouth.

You take a sip of coffee to wash it down and continue, “Has…has Diego ever had a–girlfriend?”

 _Oh. God._ You are thirteen years old. You’re starring in your own dumbass rom com _Thirty Going On Thirteen_. You slap your hand over your eyes so you don’t have to watch Julio’s face as he answers.

Julio clears his throat but he doesn’t succeed in covering the short laugh at your antics, “Diego? I’ve known him almost ten years. I’ve never seen him with a…girlfriend.”

You let your hand fall away from your eyes and look over at Julio earnestly, “So…he’s never had anything…serious?”

Julio turns to look at you as he stops the car at a red light. The pity in his eyes forces you to look away.

His voice is soft and you want to punch him. “His life just makes it…hard. You shouldn’t…”

His voice trails off. He wants to warn you. To help you. He likes you, damn it. You’re a little weirdo and it’s hilarious that his boss is so enthralled with you, but he knows Diego is going to hurt you. Still…it’s Diego. His boy. And he can’t bring himself to say something that would feel like a betrayal. You decide to save him.

“I know, Julio,” you offer him a fake smile. “Thanks.”

_You do know. Really…_

***

…It’s so easy to forget when Diego’s lips are trailing fiery kisses over your mouth, your jaw, the crook of your neck. You forget all the reasons this isn’t a good idea–all of Julio’s unspoken warnings. Your mind is given over to your body’s needs, overcome with the pulsing secret inside you, the yearning to ride Diego’s love into a blinding light that will doubtlessly eclipse all others. 

The mop clatters to the floor beside you and you launch yourself into Diego’s arms, forcing him to support you or buckle beneath the sudden attack. He perches you up on the kitchen counter, never letting his lips leave yours. If you had room to think you might marvel at how quickly this man has conquered your shyness, your reserve, your logic. 

He breaks the kiss to whisper into your ear, “Would it kill you to wear something with a little more…access?”

He grinds his hips against you for emphasis. Even through the denim fabric of your jeans you can feel the sweet bulge of his erection and you mewl in wanton need, pressing your mouth into his stubbled cheek to muffle the mortifying sound. 

“Sorry,” you huff, your breath shaky and short, “mini dresses with holes cut out the sides aren’t really p-practical…”

The words stutter to a stop when Diego’s fingers go to the waist of your pants, popping the button open and lowering the zipper. He shoves his huge hand inside, cupping your sex in his warm palm. All thoughts of Francesca and her ridiculous outfits fly from your head. You grind against him with a needy wail, burying your face into his shoulder in embarrassment as pleas fall from your lips. 

“Oh…my god, Diego. Please, please, please…” 

Diego smirks and lets his fingers drag through your folds, circling your mound with a feather-light touch that forces you to thrust your hips to gain any friction. You groan in frustration against his shoulder. He uses his free hand to grasp your ponytail, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling it back until your upturned face is exposed to him. He eyes glint and he grins arrogantly as he increases the pressure against your clit, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers, all the while watching your face as you come undone. You’re sure you look pathetic–mouth hung open in lust, eyes dazed and half-lidded–you wish you could hide from his knowing gaze but when you try it, Diego tightens his grip on your hair and shakes his head slightly.

“I’m gonna watch you come on my fingers, guapa,” he hisses and laughs when the words evoke another lustful moan from you. “You like that, huh?”

He keeps his thumb rubbing relentlessly against your clit as his fingers dive down to plunge inside you, thrusting away into your wet cunt until you’re quivering around him and nearly sobbing with your coming orgasm.

You suddenly hear Julio clearing his throat from the elevator entrance and your body immediately tenses in alarm. Diego’s hand stills and you give the smallest cry of protest. _Oh, god, you’re so close._ But this–being watched–might be Diego’s thing… but it is definitely not yours. You lock eyes with him and you see the realization in his.

“Julio!” he growls, looking over his shoulder, “Turn around!”

Diego turns back to you. He releases his grip on your hair and lets you hide your face against his shoulder, cradling your head and ducking down to whisper, “Come for me, now.”

He starts up again, rubbing, circling and pulsing his hand against your wet sex. His movements are frenzied but expert and you’re crashing into your orgasm in seconds, swallowing your cry and clinging with your arms and legs wrapped around him like a baby koala. He rubs his hands over your back soothingly and ducks down to kiss you.

Julio pipes up apologetically, “Jefe…we have that thing…”

Diego lets out a ferocious growl and nips your lower lip sharply enough to make you gasp, “Ouch, Diego!”

His eyes go soft and molten and he kisses you gently to make up for it. He leans back and your arms fall away from his shoulders, you’re both out of breath and flushed. 

“Okay,” Diego grunts, running his hands through his hair. He’s already transforming before your eyes into the steely, dangerous version of himself that he wears out into the world. His eyes fall back to yours and soften a bit as he says, “We probably won’t be back until after you leave for the day…”

 _Quelle romantique_. You’re sitting there, looking utterly debauched with your hair a mess and your pants undone, smelling of sex… Diego really has drawn you into something whether you like it or not. Julio’s unspoken warning lingers in your mind. There’s no room in Diego’s life for a serious relationship. If that’s true then you’ll just have to learn to accept it. But you don’t want what this is to be entirely on his terms–frenzied exchanges between murders and business meetings. You guess if you want something more you’re going to have to ask for it.

“Maybe–” your voice sounds high and squeaky in your ears– “afterwards you can come by my place. I’ll order some Chinese food and…”

Diego looks up from tucking his gun into the waist of his pants. His face is a comical blank.

“Your place?” he repeats.

“Yeah…” you smile playfully, letting your hand brush up the length of his muscled arm and resting your palm against the back of his neck. You can see Julio’s guarded, worried expression from the corner of your eye but you ignore him. “My place.”

_My rules._

Diego looks half intrigued, half reluctant. In the end all he’ll give you is, “Maybe. If we don’t get done too late.”

You try not to look too deflated, certain you’ll be spending another night alone. 

“Well…text me if you’re coming and I’ll order the food.”

Diego looks unnerved as he leaves the penthouse. Julio casts you an exasperated look and you shrug your shoulders with a grimace of apology. _You don’t know what’s wrong with you either._

_***_

Walking home from the train station that afternoon you have to shake your head and laugh at yourself for reveling in the luxury of being driven around this morning. You’re still a poor girl even if your bank account is looking a little healthier lately and you may or may not have a millionaire drug lord coming over later for snuggles and… _you know_. A giggle erupts from your throat and an elderly lady passing by gives you a mean glance. Whatever…your life is so weird you might as well go with it.

As you’re skipping up the steps to your apartment something shiny a little down the street catches your eye. You glance over and do a double take. _Dang–someone must’ve won the lottery._ A gleaming, midnight blue muscle car is parked a few cars down from your building.

 _Well…good for them_ , you think and forget all about it.


End file.
